


Self-Reflection

by DarkHeartInTheSky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Body Image, Castiel Has Self-Esteem Issues, Gen, Nervous Castiel, SPN Angst Bingo, wing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 13:40:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13976289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartInTheSky/pseuds/DarkHeartInTheSky
Summary: Dean sees Cas's wings.For the SPN Angst Bingo





	Self-Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> Square filled: Body Image Issues

“Wow,” Dean said. 

 

Castiel shifted uncomfortably, drawing his wings closer to his back. The movement ached, but he tried not to let it show across his face. His jaw clenched. 

 

“Where did you get those?” he asked instead, struggling to maintain eye contact. Shame flushed down his spine and spread across his face. Dean fiddled with the glasses on his face. Castiel could smell the holy oil. It made his nose twitch.

 

“Hunt few years back,” Dean said. “Went after a hell hound.” Dean stepped closer. “I’ve wondered about it. For years, actually, but I didn’t think it would work.”

 

Castiel swallowed. He felt he might cry. Shame and embarrassment and misery welled up in his heart, a hot, tight ball. “Well, now you’ve seen them. Please take them off.”

 

Dean frowned. “Why?”

 

Why? Had Dean really just asked that? “Please, Dean. Don’t mock me.”

 

“Mock? Dude, what’re you talking about?”

 

“I know they’re ugly--and ruined.” What feathers remained were frayed all over; frayed and dirty, split into endless pieces. He’d preen them, but in this vessel, he couldn’t reach behind himself enough to do so; not that it would do any good. The feathers were beyond grooming. And they hurt so bad, all the time. A constant ache he had to carry with him in his bones. He definitely couldn’t bring them closer to his hands. Besides, Castiel preferred they stay behind him--out of his sight. He didn’t need to be constantly reminded that they were tarnished; blackened, heavy and useless. A sign of his status as a fallen angel. 

 

“What the hell are you talking about? They’re not ugly.” Dean stepped closer. Castiel was too flabbergasted to respond. Dean’s eyes shone, sparkling in that way of his; full of wonder and curiosity. He raised a hand, then slowly retracted it. He looked at Castiel cautiously. “Can I touch them?”

 

Castiel flinched--his wings flapped briefly. The bones ground against each other, the cartilage long worn away. Despite this, he found himself nodding. Dean reached over Castiel’s shoulder and ran his hand gently over the curve of the wing; Dean couldn’t actually feel anything. The wings weren’t really in this plane. But Castiel could feel Dean’s hand. The callouses, and warmth of it all.

 

“Cool,” Dean said, still grinning. “They’re--awesome.”

 

“Awesome,” Cas said, unsure.

“Yeah. I mean, look at ‘em.”

 

“I’d rather not.”

 

Dean frowned then. He cleared his throat. “Well, I think they’re cool. Badass. The color suits you.”

 

Castiel snorted.

 

“It does. Ask anyone. Black is killer. Bad. Ass.”

 

Dean reached out again, fingertips running along the feather ends. “Are they soft? They look soft.”

 

He had nothing else to lose--no more pride could fall. Castiel shook his wings. A loose feather fell out and materialized onto the floor. Dean bent down and picked it up, twirling it in his fingers. Light reflected off the vane, shining different colors--blues, greens, pinks.

 

“Cool,” Dean said, wide-eyed and grinning ear to ear. 

 

Castiel’s stomach twisted. Dean meant well. He was so sincere, a much better friend than Castiel deserved. But this--this he was clueless. His wings weren’t cool. They weren’t badass. They were ugly; broken and scarred and painful. His cross to bear for his sins.

 

But watching Dean, with that goofy, child-like smile, Castiel couldn’t help but smile.

 

If this is what his sins got him, this friendship with Dean. . . he’d take the pain tenfold.


End file.
